This is an eclectic blog in which I discuss whatever in the world happens to be on my mind today.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Poetry Sunday: Autumn in the Garden

The autumn sun lends a glow to these 'Graham Thomas' roses in my December garden, some of the last of the year.

The late autumn garden is a bittersweet place. We know that the first frost is just around the corner, but in these last few days before its arrival, the blossoms seem lovelier than ever. The days now are filled with sunshine. With the high temperatures in the 60s F., it is very pleasant just to spend the day puttering around the garden and soaking it all in.

Henry Van Dyke was an American writer and poet who lived from 1852 to 1933. I think he caught the essence of the autumn garden very well in this poem. I particularly like the sentiment that he expresses in his last stanza: "They who know the sorrows other lives have known never walk alone." Indeed, in my experience, gardeners are the most empathetic of humans and they well know that "the sadness of the fall comes alike to all."

Autumn in the Garden by Henry Van DykeWhen the frosty kiss of Autumn in the darkMakes its markOn the flowers, and the misty morning grievesOver fallen leaves;Then my olden garden, where the golden soilThrough the toilOf a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,Whispers in its sleep.'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,Where the boxBorders with its glossy green the ancient walks,There's a voice that talksOf the human hopes that bloomed and withered hereYear by year,--Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours,Fading as the flowers.Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief;But reliefFor the loneliness of sorrow seems to flowFrom the Long-Ago,When I think of other lives that learned, like mine,To resign,And remember that the sadness of the fallComes alike to all.What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!And what prayersFor the silent strength that nerves us to endureThings we cannot cure!Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,I have tracedAll their well-worn paths of patience, till I findComfort in my mind.Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear:Yet how nearIs the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face,Of the human race!Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,Not apart!They who know the sorrows other lives have knownNever walk alone.